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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

"psati-s 

Chap.- Copyright No. 

Shelf..(LU-^lK 7 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Rose Leaves 



poems 

BY 

Rcnry Clayton Fiophins 

Drawings 

BY 

Lcc moodward Zciglcr 



PUBLISHED BY 
JNO. H. WILLIAMS COMPANY 
BALTIMORE 



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WILLIAMS COMPANY 



ART PRESS 

JNO. H. WILLIAMS COMPANY 

BALTIMORE 



Co Lydia 



Sy the Sea. 



T^AWN, red on the blue sea-line, 

Bursts open like a rose, 
Scattering its petals on the tide 

Which way the sea-wind blows. 
Ho! for a ship with a snowy sail! 

The pink flakes drift to the shore 

And vanish in the spray; 
But lo! on the echoing cliff, 

A miracle greets the day. 
Speed, speed a ship with a snowy sail! 

In the mystery of the grass, 

A thousand roses nod 
Where a maiden patiently waits 

Love at the hand of God. 
Woe to a heart and a snowy sail! 

Day dies like a rose in blight. 

Sere-yellow and pale red, 
And a heart lies pulseless and cold 

Under the twilight dead. 
God, and a heart, and a snowy sail. 




H Coast. 



*ff WOULD not drink to eyes less bright than thine, 

To lips less smiling, or a heart less true — • 
When Cupid brims the witching bowl with wine, 
For more than empty praise thy glances sue. 

Nor would I drink to any thought less sweet 
Than thy dear hand placed softly in mine own, 

That told me what thy lips would fain repeat. 

But that vain speech, disarmed, had silent grown. 



Long Live the King. 

"^HE king hath need of my sword to-day — 

Not least of his armament — 
To stem the tide of the fierce affray 
Of friend and of foeman blent; 

And thou, my queen, 

I proudly ween, 
Would 'st never that I should stay — 
For ever the king before the queen, 
Though queen of love she be. 

Long live the king! 

God save the king — 

And give us victory! 

Love's battle won — oh, I care for naught! 
Though brother-in-arms be Death; 

For the foeman's grace shall ne'er be sought 
With a conquered craven's breath; 
And thou, my queen, 
I proudly ween, 
Will glory that I have fought — 
For ever the king before the queen. 
Though queen of love she be. 
Long live the king! 
God save the king — 
And give us victory ! 



Indifference. 



|I3 MID the silken vesture of her hair, 

My love she sits nor speaks nor makes a sign, 
But picks the tender petals from the rose 

That once was worshiped in a golden shrine. 
The crimson leaves fall fluttering to earth — 
My love she sits and sings a song of mirth. 



-From Overland Monthly. 




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Lilies. 



*fIF from my spirit's eager flow 

You plucked the stainless thoughts that grow 

For your delight, 
As you pluck from the mottled stream 

The lilies white — 
And o'er their perfect petals dream 

Till faded quite — 
Each thought of mine to you would seem 

A flower bright. 

And if you treasured in your breast — 
As on your heart the lilies rest — 

My love for you, 
'T'Aould be as fair as some brave flower 

Perchance that grew 
In barren field or rifled bower 

Where flowers were few — 
And life would grow from hour to hour 

More strong and true. 



Xn passing. 



*ff CAUGHT a blossom from the sod, 
A dainty bud of palest blue; 

It taught a gracious thing of God, 

But something else it taught me, dear- 
A something sweeter, far more near — 

To think a loving thought of you. 




JMiragc. 



1[')ESTP:RDAY sitting- with you at dusk. 
^ The sweetest thing came to pass. I thii 
'Twas either the leaping fire in the grate 

Or the tea I forgot to drink — 
Rahiiing the air with its langorous scent, 

A minghng of roses and musk — 

That wrought a vision of your dear face, 

Bending dreamily over mine. 
And you were my wife for that little while 

By a tender, endearing sign; 
For, bending closer, you kissed me thrice 

On the brow with womanly grace. 

But there! 'twas all in a dream, you know. 
And vou are listening wearily — so! 









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Cupid^s Birthday. 



7|/J1HEN Summer firat, with cheek of flame, 

Renewed from earth her olden fame, 
A tinv fay crept into lite, 

Cradled in a flow' ret fair — 
A dainty being scarce of earth, 

A nestlino- of the air. 



It almost seemed when first ue peered 
In at the stranoer, heaven-reared. 

Some ruder wind than they that croon 
O'er the rose-land of our day 

Might sear the tender little elf. 
And waft our hopes away. 

But midst the ardors of the clime, 
A dauntless boy he- grew in time; 

And laughed to see the whirlwinds blow, 
Scattering blossoms o'er the land — 

And he and I and she I love 
Walk ever hand in hand. 




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CKill Love Rave flown? 



CJIVVEET, when summer suns fade out 

And autumn woods are left to moan 
Their sere leaves whirled to dismal rout, 
Will love have flown ? 

When covert path and whispering dell, 
Where lightly we the hours have sped. 

Their joyance yield to winter's spell, 
Will hope be dead? 

Or, in the warmth of love's desire. 
Will all the stretch of dreary days 

Renew with gentler, subtler fire 
The summer's praise? 



H Ristory. 



7|/riHEN Spring began, a tender bud Love laid 
Upon my heart, nor leaf nor stem decayed. 

But Summer came, and with her torrid breath 
Breathed on th^ flower — and Autumn saw its death. 

Now Winter's here, and on my sad heart lie 
The yellow leaves; their fragrance passed me by. 

And so adieu forever, flowers of Love, 
The yellow leaves I prize all else above. 



Constancy. 

EAR love, we may not live in this sad wise, 

With heart to heart unpressed thro' weary years. 
With lips untouched of lips, — drear sacrifice, — 

And lives all-hungerino;, thrilled with haunting- fears. 



2) 



Will, of the coming years — a dismal train — 
A little space, however brief, restore 

To us the by-gone gladness and the pain 
Of love we deem as true forevermore ? 

The bitter years seem leagued with fate to win 
From life her dower, from constancy her trust; 

But that our love was born with faith a twin. 
My heart ere now were withered into dust. 



Co a JMiniaturc, 

CJITILL dreaming- o'er thy pictured face, 
Held in its quaintly carven case 

Of tarnished gold, 
I search thine ever fixed eyes 
For all the love that in them lies — 
But thou art banned in Paradise, 

And I am old. 

'Tis vain to press thine arching mouth; 
Its fragrance lingers in the South 

Where thou art laid. 
But memory — O tender grace ! 
By whose sweet mystery I trace 
Of love its earliest time and place! — 

Will never fade. 



H Bagatelle, 

TjrnjHEN someone's lips were near my own last night, 
^^ I deemed I trifled, playing but a part; 
But morning put the fond conceit to flight, 

For smile and glance still lingered in my heart. 

And when I strove to cast her image out. 
Fate's little daysman, Love, in frolic, tost 

A rose-leaf on the balance of my doubt 

And laugfhed — because I wavered and was lost. 





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CKbo Cares? 



TI/flHO cares for the rose with lea\es brown-turning, 

Its fragrance yielded, its beauty tied ? 
No longer sought for in passion burning, 
A sigh's enough for a rose that is dead. 

Who cares for a life that is spent in trying. 
Who cares for a life that is spent in vain, 

When love is the goal and the heart is sighing 
And li\'ing is lingering, bitter pain ? 




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first Love. 



FIRST love never forgets. 
Though youth to old age may decline, 
And passion may tarnish the long years between, 

The roses that damask the earliest green 
With the leaves of decay will entwine; 
And oh! 
Sweetheart, too late, in the winter of life, 
Thy light heart will droop and repine. 

A first love never forgets. 

Though other affections may bring 
To the hungering heart a vague respite, a thrall 

Of passing illusion, the note through it all 
Will be the enchantment of spring: 
And oh! 

Sweetheart, too late, in the winter of life. 
Will hope be a profitless thing. 



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II^OU came as the spring advances, 
^-^ A blossom crowned with the light, 
A wildering maze of glances — 
Keen arrows of love in flight. 

And warmed by your soft caresses, 

Love, in the leaf of a rose, 
Sought dalliance in balmy tresses, 

And faith in the wind that blows. 

^'ou passed me as autumn passes, 
With sighing and vague regret — 

But the dead rose in the grasses 
Sorrowed that ever we met. 



H Cdinter 8ong. 



jCILL up the glass! All sorrow flies 
^ And joy bides till the morrow! 
Fill up the glass that sparkles so 
And drink a draught from Lethe's flow! 

One hour of surcease borrow 
From all the ills that fret the day — 
The heart that grieves is only clay, 
The ruby cup will not betray! 

The ruby cup will not betray, 

Though other friends forsake us : 

For sweethearts lie to please a whim. 

Fill up the goblet to the brim — 
Lest deeper grief o'ertake us! 

The heart that grieves is only clay, 
'Twas made to break within a day — 

Shout out the merry roundelay! 

Fill up the glass! A golden June 

Saw lovers twain together. 
'Neath sober skies 
A young love flies 

The bleak December weather. 
The heart that grieves is only clay, 
'Twas made to break within a day — 
Shout out the merry roundelay. 



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Circe. 



"^HE whirring flakes to envy wrought 

Against her soft cheeks beat and blow 
Where, summer's subtle magic caught, 
The roses blush amid the snow. 

O dainty snare I Rebellious locks 
About her blue eyes wildly dance, 

And through the witching net she mocks 
And screens her shy, coquettish glance. 

The winds — the highway robbers bold I — - 
At every step sweet kisses thieve 

From lips whose lures of scarlet hold 
A spell that only she could weave. 



Song. 



"TTHE day of life is dawning, love — 

Oh, lift thine eyes, my sweet, 
The first glad radiance of the morn 

In happiness to greet 1 
And on my lips the \ows thou gav'st 

In fragrant kisses press, 
And to my craving heart unfold 

Thv heart's own loveliness. 

Sweet as the breath of morn thou art. 

And fleetingly the light 
Plays in thy tender, loving eyes. 

As day cotjuets with night. 
Then on my lips the vows thou gav'st 

In fragrant kisses press, 
And to my craving heart unfold 

Thy heart's own loveliness. 




Oh, )Sever in Days of Y'^^^^ 



/^H, never in days of yore 

Sought knight with a braver mien 

A maiden's glance, 

With conquering lance 
And bannerol's flaunting sheen, 

Than I sweet Lydia's smile 
Have wooed with the rarest art; 

But love's a spell 

She knows right well. 
And she bears a charmed heart. 

Oh, Cupid himself, tlie rogue, 
Would level in vain his dart; 

For love's a spell 

She knows right well, 
And she bears a charmed heart. 

Was ever in days of yore 
Completer surrender made 

By vanquished knight, 

O'ercome in light, 
Or homage more loyal paid ? 

But faint are my blandishments 
To win of her love a part; 

For lo\'e's a spell 

She knows right well. 
And she bears a charmed heart. 



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